Dirt

Scrubbing

the dirt that clung

to the lines and creases of my body

a furtive soil

stronger than me

dirt that strangles

in the name of remembrance

the remembrance of whispers and crimes from that night

I'm told to keep washing

I've scrubbed off

layers of skin

but it

persists

I'm down to bones

bones, whose marrow is now dirt

no longer a rushing red running through my heart

a heart no longer breathing

lungs no longer beating.

A dirt that is poisoning

seeping

alive

This poem is about: 
Me
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